


Dust to Dust

by Feathers7501



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On Coda, SPN finale coda, Season 15 ep20 coda, i kinda fixed it, season 15 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathers7501/pseuds/Feathers7501
Summary: Heaven is lacking something
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73





	Dust to Dust

It’s dusty, and it’s dry. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable and it’s as close to home as he’ll ever get.

He looks down at his scuffed and worn boots as they trace patterns in the dirt below the chair. If those boots could tell a story it would be one of work to be done, a cautionary tale where sacrifice is necessary to save those you care for, those you love. The boots would tell of a life well lived, but cut short.

The beer is warm and tastes like stale piss. But he drinks it. There is a solidarity in sharing a man’s beer, and this man sitting in the next chair has been like a father. He sits easily under the man’s steady regard, his stance relaxing just a little as he takes it all in. There’s no more work to be done.

Home means many things to many people, the roadhouse behind him was a home from home, the rough embrace from the man in the next chair was home for a time but the shiny black car that appears gleaming under the warm sun is his true home. 

Fine sand rises in clouds to coat the creases of his boots as he leaves the warm beer on the cooler and heads over to the car. His girl, his Baby. The creak of the door is as familiar as his own voice, and the leather seats bear the imprint of his backside and thighs. He slides in and is transported home. The smell of warm leather and gas envelops him in comfort.

He doesn’t know how to feel as he grips the steering wheel and looks out at the road ahead. He should be bereft, lost, grieving. But instead he feels just empty. Not the emptiness of loss, but the emptiness one doesn’t know is there until it is filled. He is restless, edgy and unsettled like the huge dampening quiet that comes before a thunderstorm.

The black car eats up the road, swallowing white lines as trees rush past in a blur of green at the edge of his vision. One elbow propped comfortably in the open window, and one casual hand on the wheel, the black car almost drives itself. There is comfort in the monotony of the tarmac as it winds through forests and woods, through open farmland and beyond. Sometimes the view is waving fields of golden corn. Other times the vista is rugged hills or desert plains. There is pleasure in the driving, the moving on, the change in the scenery, but it is a hollow pleasure, like the cosmos is in stasis and just biding time, kicking its cosmic heels. Waiting.

It's a warm day with a gentle breeze scented with pine when he pulls over. The bridge spans a canyon with a small river at the bottom, and from the centre of the bridge the view up and down the river is spectacular. With his elbows resting comfortably on the guard rail, he enjoys the view, the silence and the sense of peace that the area brings. Then the cosmos shifts and he is no longer alone. The black car can be home to two, just as easily as one, and he greets his brother. His brother in arms, his brother in blood, and his brother in life.

“Hey Sammy”.

There is no more to say, but the man is no longer alone. He has been waiting, on pause, in an intermission but although his brother fills part of the void, there is still an emptiness, a vacuum within that aches for… something.  
There are two in the car and the cosmos turns. There are fields of wheat and pine forests. There is laughter and then there is the silence of two beings who have no need to fill the silence with chatter and shallow talk, knowing someone so well means not having to explain, but simply existing together.

The asphalt winds through the forests, through the hills, and continues to climb until the brothers are brought to a halt by the end of the road. 

There is a green cooler between them as they lean back on the black car unconsciously mirroring each other. Both with an easy stance and a beer close to hand. The brothers are relaxed. At peace. This peace has been hard earned and hard won and they deserve it. But the impending storm feeling is building, and even the warm air seems to crackle with the portent of something about to happen. It is like the damp sand left behind as the impending tsunami sucks away the sea before dashing itself upon the land.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, leaving it to be guarded by the twin forces of the car and his brother, and wanders closer to the giant canyon stretching as far as the eye can see. Taking a seat on a wooden bench he stares in awe at this giant fissure in the fabric of the universe and aches for something, someone to fill the final puzzle piece that is missing from his soul.

Head in his hands he feels a tear well over and trace its way down his face. He has earned this rest, earned this peace with blood, with sacrifice and with heartbreak. It should be enough. It can never be enough.

And then, it is over. He is no longer alone, and the silence is no longer deafening. He can hear bird calls, and the whisper of fabric against fabric as someone sits down beside him.

He dares not look up.

A hand, warm and strong grips him by the shoulder. The same shoulder that bore a branded handprint for so many years. The same shoulder that bore witness to a bloody confession and the ultimate sacrifice. 

“Hello, Dean”

“Hey, Cas.”

The cosmos can turn and the universe moves on. But for these two beings forever starts now - and it is glorious.

Fin.


End file.
